


Enamoured With You

by MrsCaulfield



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Royalty, BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), BAMF Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley radiates tired millennial energy, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Humor, Getting Together, Historical Inaccuracy, M/M, Pining Aziraphale (Good Omens), Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Slow Burn, Swordfighting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-15 11:22:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29435262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsCaulfield/pseuds/MrsCaulfield
Summary: As the royal prince of Eden, Aziraphale knew exactly what his duties were to his people, and he performed them perfectly and without fault. But that didn't stop him from subtly reaching toward the things he wasn't supposed to have from time to time. What could be the harm in the occasional indulgence?As the head of the royal guards, Crowley had some vague idea about what he was supposed to be doing. Even so, being forced to look after a spoiled prince gone rogue was something he'd been wholly unprepared for. He wasn't paid nearly enough for all this.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 72
Kudos: 114
Collections: Good Omens Human AUs





	1. Carnelian

**Author's Note:**

> So excited to share this! One of my 2021 goals is to write a Royalty AU and I'm so ecstatic that I'm finally working on it. Ambiguous timeline, really, so don't expect any historical accuracy lol I did do a little bit of research on medieval dueling but I don't actually know anything about swords and I tend to fall back on my Regency knowledge when any historical detail fails me. This really is just a bit of fun and I hope you enjoy the ride!
> 
> HUGE love and thanks to my beta Stef (crepesandoysters) for being with me since DAY ONE of this fic and brainstorming the plot with me! This au is really a joint effort and I couldn't have made this into a thing without her
> 
> Cw for those who are iffy about age difference: Crowley is ten years older than Aziraphale in this au. They first meet when Aziraphale is only 19, but nothing actually happens until Aziraphale is 26. They're both fully consenting adults, but if that's a thing you feel bothers you, read at your own discretion!
> 
> **Rated E for explicit sexual scenes in the future chapters**

_ At the age of nineteen, the Prince of Eden learned how to read. _

_ This was not to say that the Prince had been entirely illiterate prior to that. The Prince had been provided with the finest skillmasters from a very young age, and he'd been uttering entire speeches before he had learned to waddle across his bedchamber without once falling. He had a sizable personal library adjacent to his apartment, and very well-stocked it was with what he felt must be all the knowledge in the world. He had mastered geography and the modern languages, for he spoke just as well as he read. By the age of ten, he had covered the bases of all the skills that a Prince must have, wanting for close to none, and striving always for improvement—and that included the skill of reading. He had always known how to read, but it was not until much later that he learned how to  _ _ read.  _

_ What he learned at the age of nineteen was that the task of reading extended far beyond learning the rules of syllables, of visual cues, and of sound associations. He discovered the existence of plays, frivolous novels, and romantic poetry—and it was from these that he learned to read as reading was meant to be done. He learned how to read for pleasure, for delight, for tension, for suspense, and for horror. It had started with only one novel, given to him as a gift by a fellow royal from a neighbouring kingdom. That had been all that was needed to spark his ravenous interest for more. He had humbly requested the Regent for more, and had been graciously allowed to have them, one at a time, on the most liberal time allowance of an hour per week. It was more than what he'd expected, and it should have been enough. Instead he'd found that his mind was an insatiable thing. The consumption of one book led only to the desire to have more, and it was not long before an entire hour a week lost its lustre, and he had taken to sneaking out of the walls of his quarters to read elsewhere. _

_ From there, the one hour a week became much more. _

_ It could not be helped. These books taught him so much. It was through them that he learned of adventures his mind could never have conceived, and of people he'd come to care so much about. The Prince was a lonesome creature. He had no parents, no siblings, and no friends. The people in the books were his friends—they cared for him as he did them, and it was through them that he experienced the greatest of joys and the most devastating of tragedies.  _

_ It was through these books that he learned how to fall in love. _

_ It happened at the age of nineteen, when the Prince took to the habit of walking around the palace grounds in between his classes, bringing with him books discreetly tucked under his arm as he slipped past the tall hedges that obstructed him from general view. He knew which hours of the day it was least likely for anyone to come looking for him, and it was during these hours that he went.  _

_ On these lazy afternoons, he'd be tailed by one tall and broad figure. The Prince met him first by the hedges and saw that he wore the familiar dark red (he could not determine the exact shade) uniform of a palace guard. Surely that meant that it was safe to interact with him. He was meant to be protecting the royal family after all. He followed the Prince around and sometimes they talked. The Prince was mildly annoyed, as his primary purpose for these little excursions was to read, freely and in isolation, and this guard made it difficult for him to do so. Despite that, he did not have the heart to send him away. There weren't many people, on the whole, who were willing to strike up conversations with a royal prince. _

_ So he entertained the guard a little, made for some civilities, and laughed where it was appropriate. He was not entirely sure why the guard kept following him around, but surely there was no harm to it. And so it went on for a few weeks, the guard following him around and the Prince listening politely. He still read his books, and soon the afternoons weren't enough. One particular day, he determined that he had to know what was to happen next in the compelling thriller he had been reading, and it was with this determination that he took with him his book and a stack of rushlights and slipped off into the grounds in the dark of night, when most of the living souls of the palace had long been asleep. _

_ His first instinct was to return to the hedges, but he found that at night it was nearly impossible to get there. He had his rushlight, though that would only draw more attention to him. There were guards stationed at different points on the grounds, and he slinked off at the sides, trying to make as little noise as possible, and got himself hidden behind the safety of a large tree. He sat on the ground, without a care for the dirt that got on his muslin nightgown, propped up his rushlight with a wrist to his knee, and opened his book. _

_ Steady footfalls came to approach him. _

_ "It's rather late for you to be out here." _

_ It was the guard, the one who was his sort of friend, but also not quite. The Prince did not know what to say in response, so he held up a finger to his lips instead. _

_ The guard chuckled. "Yeah, I won't tell the other guards." _

_ He sat down on the ground, right next to the Prince. The Prince raised a haughty eyebrow at the blatant display of impudence and he scooted backwards, increasing the distance between them. He promptly returned to his book. _

_ He had gotten to read over two paragraphs when the guard leaned in, his chin brushing the Prince's shoulder. _

_ Equally startled and affronted, the Prince jolted in his seat, the crumbling ashes of his rushlight landing on and staining the pages of his book as he scooted back again, far enough that he was not obscured by the tree anymore. He stood on his feet. _

_ "Oh don't be like that," said the guard, standing as well. "We're only having a bit of fun. Isn't that what you want?" _

_ The Prince did not want to dignify such a statement with a verbal response, though his head tilted in confusion. _

_ "Cooped up as you are in that palace, I'm sure you're looking for some action." The guard stepped close, looming over him and his still flaming rushlight. He was much larger than the Prince, and as a royal guard, probably had some experience in combat. The Prince was trained in some ways, but he was in doubt of his own skills. He was too stunned to move, afraid of drawing attention and alerting the other guards of his whereabouts. _

_ He recoiled, sending a sharp glare over at the guard. _

_ ' Don't you dare come near me, ' he said, though he did not open his mouth nor did he make any sound. _

_ The guard presented him with a gruesome scowl. "You sure are coy, aren't you? No matter, I like a challenge." He extended a hand toward the Prince, fingers brushing his downy white curls. "Bet you're begging to be touched." _

_ The Prince blocked him with a firm forearm. The shock was evident on the guard's face as the Prince swung the offending arm outwards into a clenched fist pointed at the ground. _

_ "No," said the Prince, and this time his mouth opened and a voice came out. _

_ The flicker of surprise faded quick and soon the guard held no pretence of his former self. He snarled. "Why you—" _

_ Another figure arose from the shadows. _

_ "If a firm 'no' wasn't clear enough for you then perhaps a deck in the face will be." _

_ The Prince was drawn instantly towards the low, rumbling voice. He waved his rushlight, and the shadowy figure materialised into another guard in dark red. This one was also tall, but not broad. He was slender, much more slender than most of the other guards. He had dark hair, a square jaw, and very good shoulders.  _

_ The first guard scoffed. "Stay out of this, Crowley." _

_ The other guard—Crowley, it seemed—was unfazed. "D'you know how much trouble you'd be in if they found out you've been pestering a prince?" _

_ "He's not even s'posed to be out here!" The guard whose name meant nothing to the Prince replied with confidence. "He ain't gonna tell anyone, cause that'll get him in trouble with the Regent." _

_ Crowley stepped up, matching his height inch for inch, and gave him a look that sent a shiver down the Prince's spine. _

_ "You will leave the Prince alone, or I'll take this up with the knights." _

_ The unnamed guard glanced between the two, weighing out his options. He sent an ugly look down the Prince's way, deciding after all that it was not worth it. _

_ "Whatever," said the guard. "You're far more trouble than you're worth, blondie." _

_ The Prince bristled at his remark, his rushlight held out in front of him like it was a weapon. _

_ He had only one glimpse of the guard's disgustingly scornful look before Crowley's fist collided with his jaw. _

_ "Fuck!" _

_ The Prince flinched, his gaze fixated on the fingers flexing and curling by Crowley's thigh.  _

_ "I mean it," he said, voice as low as the depths of hell itself. His eyes were hard as agate and it was spine-chilling. "Can't even show decent respect. We don't need people like you among the ranks." _

_ The guard spat into the ground, grimacing and clutching his jaw. "You think you're so much better than the rest of us just because you're a young favourite. They'll get tired of you too." _

_ "Fuck off." _

_ The guard went off without a single look back at the Prince. _

_ It was silent again, and the Prince's rushlight was close to burning out. He took up another one from his satchel and ignited it, leaving the first one to crumble to the ground. _

_ "I suppose I should say thank you." _

_ Crowley turned to face him, almost as if he had just been reminded that he was still there. "Shut up." _

_ The Prince nodded. _

_ "You shouldn't be out here at night. Some of those buggers have had too much to drink. I'll escort you to the door." _

_ The Prince swallowed. "Will you promise not to tell?" _

_ Crowley blinked, and for a moment the Prince feared that he would much rather rat him out to the knights—or worse, the counselors—for whatever reason that it could benefit him. But then he shrugged. "Yeah, sure."  _

_ They walked across the grounds, with the Prince's rushlight burning as bright as it could, radiating light and warmth to his hand, his flushed face, and his rapidly palpitating chest. With only his muslin shirt and loose trousers, the Prince knew that he was severely underdressed. But Crowley did not look the least bit scandalised, and he never looked at the Prince again while they made their way to the doors leading back to the interiors. _

_ He held the door open for the Prince to step through and bowed. "Your Royal Highness." _

_ The Prince stepped into the room and turned around to thank him one last time. _

_ He looked significantly older than the Prince (he must be fast approaching thirty now). His eyes held wisdom, and the tightness of his stature could only have been cultivated from a life rich with experience. The flood of tallow candles that lined the walls set his hair aflame. His hair was red, much like the uniform that he wore, with its ends sweeping the top of his perfectly shaped shoulders. The Prince's mouth hung open at the sight. _

_ He was beautiful.  _

_ The Prince made some routine remark to dismiss him. It came out as an unconvincing mumble past his too-stunned lips. _

_ And then he was walking away. _

_ The Prince turned back towards the stairwell, up the steps that - on an ordinary day - only the servants took, and safely made it back to his bedchamber without being noticed. When he closed his eyes, it occurred to him that the dark red shade he had been looking for was carnelian, and he fell asleep to thoughts of handsome shoulders, a carnelian uniform, and windswept hair in almost the same shade. _

_ Carnelian, he thought, and a soft smile lit up his cherubic face. _

_ The Prince was in love. _

—

With a clang of metal, Aziraphale parried the attack with his sword, arm extended in perfect form. The weapons circled in the air, and at once the opponent's chest flew to face him.

_ An opening. _

Wasting no time, Aziraphale swung his sword back and jabbed the point to the opponent's throat.

For a moment, time was frozen. He was seized by a sudden blur, by a dizziness that made it difficult to comprehend what exactly had just taken place.

The crowd erupted into cheers.

Aziraphale withdrew his sword and bowed to his opponent, who then did the same to him before turning around and making a defeated walk of retreat.

Aziraphale stood in place, surrounded by stands among which thousands of people hollered and clapped and jumped. For him. 

His breaths came heavy, shoulders heaving up and down with exhaustion, but his lips parted into the widest beam.

At the age of twenty-six, Aziraphale had just become the champion of the annual kingdom Tournaments.

He took a deep and long bow and the crowd cheered even louder. Triumph flooded his veins and he shivered with it as beads of sweat rolled down to his brow. He turned to look up at the balcony, where Gabriel sat on his throne, smiling and clapping. Aziraphale tipped his head towards him and let his eyes run further.

Standing beside Gabriel, dressed in full regimentals, was the Black Knight.

His tall form was imposing and  _ very _ still, but his intense stillness did not look lax. Rather it was predatory. Like it watched every minute development and was posed to strike at any sign of disturbance. He wore shaded glasses on his face, leaving Aziraphale to wonder whether he was looking at him. He considered sending an acknowledgement to him as well, but then the Black Knight turned his head away, off to scan the crowd clustered in the stands.

Aziraphale tried to suppress the pang of disappointment.

This was his moment of victory, and he would enjoy it as he deserved.

* * *

A feast was laid out in the palace that night, with around forty courtiers in attendance. Aziraphale eyed the spread of food before him with great eagerness, and chatter and merriment was high in the air. From the head of the table, Gabriel stood from his seat, clanging a fork to his glass to grab everyone's attention.

When silence fell, he gave his signature winning smile.

"As you all know, we are gathered for this feast to celebrate the Prince's win earlier today." He gestured to Aziraphale, who sat on his right, then resumed. "He has trained very hard for this day, in all realms—weights, riding, swordsmanship. And we've now seen all his hard work come to fruition. He is now the first combatant in Eden to win the Tourneys on their first attempt."

The courtiers went into loud applause, and Aziraphale bowed, silently thanking them with a radiant beam.

Gabriel extended his glass towards him, and with that same wide smile, said: "Your parents would be very proud of you, Aziraphale."

Aziraphale was starting to become uncomfortable under the attention, but he shrugged it off. Winning the Tourneys had been his dream, and he had indeed trained hard for it. Years of strict discipline, of cramped muscles and straining thighs, of sore backsides from endlessly being on horseback, of minor injuries sustained when he'd made a slight misjudgment in sparring, of sleepless nights spent drilling strategies and maneuvers over and over to his memory.

He deserved to enjoy this moment of triumph. Today he'd achieved his dream. It did not matter that he'd done it much sooner than he expected, and a portion of his brain now wondered  _ 'What comes next?'  _ because he had won and these people were celebrating for  _ him.  _ He would sit in front of this feast, he would eat and drink and be allowed this moment of triumph without thinking of anything else. 

* * *

Later that night, Aziraphale was striding through the corridors on his way to his apartment when a footman stopped him in his tracks. 

"Your Royal Highness," said he, bowing low. "The Regent has requested your presence in the study."

Aziraphale threw him a disbelieving look. "Right now?"

"Yes, Sir."

And that was how he found himself entering Gabriel's study, late at night. It was a bit late to be summoned, but perhaps Gabriel had a lot of engagements for the next day. Aziraphale bowed on his entry. "Your Grace."

Gabriel looked up from the letter he'd been reading and shot Aziraphale a smile. "You did an excellent job smoothing out the negotiations with the South."

"Thank you," replied Aziraphale, though he did not know how this was related to his summoning. The Southern kingdom was their closest neighbour, and had been just as badly affected by the recent drought as Eden. Aziraphale had been sent to negotiate a trade deal with them a week ago, and it had gone as smoothly as expected. It was what he'd been trained to do, after all.

"It's because of that success that I am sending you this time to the Northern Traps."

Aziraphale was struck. "The Northern Traps? Why will I be going all the way up there?"

In response, Gabriel handed him a piece of parchment listing the negotiations he had in mind. "Surely you know why."

Aziraphale could only guess, though it was an educated one. The Northern Traps was located far up on a plateau resting on step-like slopes. Many kingdoms had suffered from the cloud of volcanic ash that had rendered them a year without summer. Food supply was in a worryingly precarious position. But the Northern Traps had been spared from the worst of it, and it was paramount that Eden gathered their favours before any of the other kingdoms could beat them to it. And most of all, gathering favours in the name of Eden was Aziraphale's job.

He glanced down at the parchment and couldn't help noting that the demands were... well, a touch  _ too _ demanding. He didn't try to contest it, though. Gabriel must have a reason for coming up with such a list, and Aziraphale's job was only to convey it in the most pleasing manner possible. Still, he could not help but doubt himself. "How do I get them to agree to this deal?"

Gabriel chuckled. "You always do in the end, Aziraphale. Use that charm of yours. It's what you're best at, after all."

"Well, th-thank you, but I am not sure if I—"

Gabriel cut him off with a sharp look.

"When your parents entrusted the care of you to me, I knew you were destined for great things. And you were such a lame child with little interests. Still, we worked hard and whipped you into shape. Look at you now, you have beaten the strongest combatants in all of Eden."

Aziraphale bowed his head. "Yes, I am grateful."

Gabriel's lips curled into a grin. "You are probably wondering, now that you have won the Tourneys, what's next for you. You may think this is the end of your path, but I see far greater things in your future, Aziraphale. Trust me. But you will have to start here, by winning the hearts of the North. Do you see it now?"

"I do, Sir."

"You wouldn't want to disappoint your parents, would you?"

"No, Sir."

"Then do you have more concerns? I am always here for you, Aziraphale."

Aziraphale folded up the parchment and tucked it into his pocket. "None, Sir."

"Well then." Gabriel clapped his hands and leaned back in his seat. "You are dismissed."

* * *

Aziraphale was up early the following morning to head to the stables. Of the many residents of the palace, it was only Carlton—his horse—who was aware of his favourite reading spot. Each week, he rode Carlton to this place, armed with his book and trusty satchel. He was a trusty horse, with glistening white hair and skin, and had been a loyal friend and companion to Aziraphale for the past three years.

But today, after entering the stables and giving instructions to the groom, he was surprised to find that Carlton was not alone. In the stable next to him was a beautiful black stallion that Aziraphale recognised instantly. He approached cautiously, extending a hand.

The horse did not shy away, and he went on to stroke its snout. Its dark beady eyes slowly drifted shut, then opened in much the same manner.

The groom approached from his side. "I see you've found the Black Knight's horse, Your Royal Highness."

Aziraphale hummed and carried on stroking. "What is it doing in here?"

"The other stables are being renovated, Sir. Had to move here for the time being. Name's Bentley. A beauty, isn't he?"

Aziraphale nodded, awestruck. "He's wonderful."

"Lady Michael has instructed me to remind you that you are not to veer off course, Sir."

Aziraphale turned to the groom, scoffing innocently. "Now when have I ever done that?"

Gabriel was well-intentioned, but he, along with his royal counsel, had the tendency to be overprotective. It was likely because they were still used to how Aziraphale was in his younger days, when he had been lazy, indulgent, and refused to part from his library. He was very different now. He was confident that he could handle himself should any actual danger come upon him, and it made him a lot braver. Gabriel would never see him beyond that lazy kid, but that was fine. Aziraphale knew that he was more than capable now.

Another person entered through the doors, a lean figure in shadowy black. Aziraphale's gaze was instantly drawn to the newcomer. His breath caught in his throat upon seeing the Black Knight himself, curly red hair sitting neatly atop the crown of his head, and dressed in his uniform of black regimentals and silver buttons over perfectly-shaped shoulders. 

He stopped a few feet away, bowing low.

"Your Royal Highness."

There was no suppressing the shiver that ran down his spine at the sound of that low drawl. He cleared his throat, attempting to maintain his dignified stance. "Will you also be riding today?"

"Yes," he replied curtly.

He strode forward, on track to get to his horse. He stopped again and raised a dark eyebrow at Aziraphale.

Confused, Aziraphale tilted his head until it occurred to him that he was standing in the way of the Black Knight's horse.

"Oh!" He exclaimed, laughing nervously. "Yes, I am-I do apologise." He stepped to the side, towards Carlton, and made way for him to pass. He fought off a threatening blush.

The Black Knight passed by him without further comment, and the groom cleared his throat. Aziraphale had nearly forgotten he was still there.

"Carlton has been saddled, Sir."

He jolted, blinking rapidly as if resurfacing from a dream. He thanked the groom and proceeded to take out his horse. Vaguely he wondered whether the Black Knight watched him leave. He imagined for a moment that he did, and a giddy smile formed on his full lips.

* * *

He and Carlton rode into the forest, where a path had been cleared that went around and looped back towards the palace, solely for Aziraphale's use. It was a fine day and he inhaled the cool air, brimming with the scent of earth. He relished in the shade of the tall trees and basked in the warmth of sunlight where slivers of them peeked through from breaks in the canopy.

When he had gotten a considerable distance away, he looked around to confirm that no one was there to see, and steered his horse at a sharp angle, straight into a thicket of twigs and leaves. 

The mess of green was fast approaching him, and from his satchel he produced his parrying dagger. With a squeal of delight, he drew the weapon. The first slash was a thrill, a breath of fresh air. He laughed like a madman, loud and full. He slashed again and Carlton picked up in speed. He cut through each obstacle before an inch could touch either of them. His arm strained from swinging wildly, his breaths coming short in strenuous, exhilarating laughter.

Finally, he emerged into a clearing and dismounted his horse.

He had discovered the place two years ago, on one of his first forays away from his course. The clearing was made at a spot where forest trees had been felled by a razing fire, their ashes used to produce fertile soil on which to plant crops. It seemed a viable solution, but not a long-term one. When the quality inevitably degraded, the land was abandoned, and the entire process was repeated elsewhere in the forest. Aziraphale had instantly taken a liking to this particular spot. It was filmed by a layer of short grass—a signal of rebirth in a place that had suffered and lost.

He sat on the ground, legs crossed with his elbows on his thighs, and read, simply enjoying the scents and sounds of nature surrounding him. 

When an hour passed in this manner, he heard the sounds of a couple of horses from a distance. He stood on high alert. It would not do for anyone to spot him in this place. He disappeared back into the trees, creeping up with silent footfalls towards the sound.

He spotted two grey horses. He crept closer, hiding himself behind a large tree, and from this new distance he saw that two figures were mounted on these horses—Lord Sandalphon and Lady Uriel, two of Gabriel's counselors.

He debated with himself on whether he should slip away unnoticed, when he was struck by the mention of a reference to himself. He held himself silent, back pressed entirely against the trunk.

"It has all been settled," said Lady Uriel's voice. "The Prince is to journey to the Northern Traps two days from now."

"And they are all aware?" came Lord Sandalphon's voice.

"They will be expecting the Prince's arrival on the day of their King's coronation. The wedding will soon follow."

Aziraphale froze. Had he heard it wrong? Where was the trade deal that Gabriel had told him of? Why was he to attend a wedding instead?

"Once the wedding has taken place, it is sealed," continued Uriel. "We can finally rest easy and deem it all done, after the Prince has been married to the King."

Aziraphale's insides turned to lead.

"It is a very long journey to the Northern Traps," Sandalphon remarked with some skepticism. "It's not an easy journey to make. A lot can happen in a week. We must have contingency plans in place in case the unforeseeable occurs."

"You're daft, aren't you?" Uriel cackled, the sound sending sharp daggers into Aziraphale's gut. "Nothing is going to happen to the Prince. He's to be accompanied by the Black Knight himself, along with two other guards, and will be watched like a hawk. If anyone tries to harm him, the Black Knight will handle it. Not to mention the Prince has no idea why he's being sent off in the first place."

"Really? How on earth have you managed to convince him to go?"

"The Regent told him that he's in for trade negotiations. You know the fool, he is very gullible. And very eager to please the Regent. It didn't even occur to him to question it."

Sandalphon laughed as well. "Makes things easier for us, then. Barely had to lift a finger. Shall we go?"

"Yes, I think I've had enough of this disgusting forest."

With a snap of the reins, their horses retreated, and Aziraphale was left alone.

He stumbled back to the tree, his insides twisted, and his heart hammering in his chest. A fool. A gullible fool. It hadn't even occurred to him that this was a trick. But surely he could be wrong. He thought back to Gabriel's encouraging words, his praises, the allowances he afforded Aziraphale. Aziraphale owed his life to him, and Gabriel had never once led him to his own ruin. He made him better, a more honourable and skilled Prince, one that Eden was proud to have. Whatever plans he had, it was always with Aziraphale's best intentions in mind. Surely there was a reason why he was to be married off to the King of the Northern Traps? And another reason still for concealing it from him?

He stumbled past the tree, clutching his twisted stomach. He wanted to go home, back to his private quarters. There were tears threatening to slide past his lids, but he willed them not to show. He did not cry easily.

Another horse came along on the cleared path, and with a snap of his head, Aziraphale looked up at a majestic black horse and directly into the hard gaze of the Black Knight.

The sight knocked all the breath out of his lungs. Wild red hair, with the tips sweeping over perfect shoulders, flew back with the wind, jostling in time with each trot of the horse. He still wore those shaded lenses, but this time Aziraphale knew that he was looking straight at him.

Aziraphale smiled pitifully. What a gruesome sight he must be right now. He was terribly unlucky.

For a moment, the tight frown around the Black Knight's mouth withered, softening by a fraction. His brows pulled up, and his mouth opened like he was about to say something to Aziraphale.

Aziraphale waited, his pulse racing as he did so.

The Black Knight only tipped his head in acknowledgement, then proceeded down the path into a faster trot, leaving Aziraphale by his lonesome once again.

Thoroughly distraught, Aziraphale returned to his own horse and, on shaky breaths, began the long journey back to the palace.

  
  



	2. Tiger's Eye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all the responses to the first chapter!
> 
> And so here we enter the adventure part of the adventure fic

"May you have a safe journey ahead, Aziraphale."

Aziraphale shot a radiant smile. "I am more than adequately prepared for this trip, Sir, you need not worry."

They stood at the palace steps, the sounds of approaching carriages ringing through from the pathway. It was early in the morning, and the weather permitted them fine conditions to start their journey to the Northern Traps. Aziraphale knew that it was not to be an easy journey. With the horses needing to rest every so often, it would be a miracle for them to make it to their destination in anything less than a week. 

Gabriel gave a firm clap to his shoulder. "I have no doubt that you will succeed. Just be firm with our demands, and use all the charms you have in your arsenal."

"Thank you for entrusting me with such an important task," he replied, turning back from the steps to see his personal carriage approach. "I hope to make Eden proud."

"And you will." Gabriel released his shoulder and glanced over Aziraphale's shoulder to lock eyes with the Black Knight, standing still on the pavement with both hands on the reins of his horse. "And you. You know your job."

With half of his face still obscured by the shaded lenses, it was very difficult to read the Black Knight's expression. He made a quick nod to acknowledge Gabriel. 

"I'm aware of my job, Sir. No harm is to come to the Prince."

His tone sounded mildly annoyed. Aziraphale had to suppress a snigger. "Sir, you do worry too much," he said to the Regent. "I am quite ready to leave now."

At his verbal signal, all the staff on ground began to move to their places. A coachman scurried off to open the door to Aziraphale's carriage. With one last look back at the palace, Aziraphale squared his shoulders and stepped in. 

The door was shut behind him. A small box window off to either side of his seat was all that could provide him entertainment through the long journey. He was in a fashionable chaise-and-four, fit for any reputable royalty. Another, more compact, carriage followed behind, containing his personal belongings. The Black Knight rode up on horseback, leading the entire party, while the two other guards in dark red coats tailed behind.

The hours passed by with little variation. Aziraphale was shaken and jostled inside the carriage, allowing him no moment of repose. The whole time he observed the moving surroundings outside the windows, watching as they entered through thick forests, passed by the edges of seas, and approached tall mountains that broke into the horizon. These hours then turned into days, days which were broken by their nightly ritual of setting up camp in a viable space through the woods so that they may all steal a few hours of sleep.

The trek became more of a challenge as they entered the slopes leading up to the Traps. Here they advanced shorter distances per day, and more rest was needed. When Aziraphale disembarked his carriage on the sixth day and saw that all the staff were in a flurry to set up camp, he slipped past their notice, moving into a relatively clear spot in the woods where there was enough vantage point for him to look around.

The last river bend had been some distance ago, bent at a near-right angle opening up southwest, and far off into the horizon was the long line of the Jagged Peaks. Down the other direction was the sea. He imagined that they all pointed toward him.

He fumbled with the watch chain that hung from his waistcoat, opening up the fob to reveal an ornate compass. His eyes drifted shut as he took in the sweet scent of wood and fresh leaves on damp ground, and before anyone could notice that he had gone, he tucked his compass back into his trouser band and ran back to camp.

The Prince had a tent to his own, of course, with a guard stationed to watch over him in shifts. At the early dusk, he awoke from a fitful sleep, opening the flap of his tent to get a look at his current guard.

He was greeted by the sight of a dark red coat and he breathed a sigh of relief. Some distance away, the other tent was dead silent. Aziraphale grabbed his satchel and his fur-lined cloak. He wrapped his entire form in the cloak and strode out.

The stationed guard stood at attention. "Your Royal Highness. Is... Is everything alright?"

Aziraphale took a moment to size him up. In stature he was not much larger than Aziraphale, but he seemed a bit young. Aziraphale smiled, putting all his charm into it.

"I am having trouble sleeping," he said. "A short walk might do me good."

The guard looked wary, his gaze shifting down to the other tent while his hand hovered over the rapier by his waist. "Sure, let me just tell—"

"There is no need to inform anyone," he said. "I am quite intent on going alone, and I will be back shortly."

"But, Sir—"

Aziraphale stepped up front, drawing himself to his full height. Instantly, the guard was reminded that he was not just face-to-face with a royal prince, but with a warrior as well. A worthy combatant. He cowered into himself, and Aziraphale looked down at him from the tip of his nose.

"Do you mean to imply that I am incapable of protecting myself, young one?"

The guard shook his head. "N-no, Sir. I wasn't trying—"

"Or do you forget who I am?" He put all the force in his voice, and it could've commanded armies. "Forget what I have done?"

The guard bowed, arms hanging limp by his sides. "Not at all, Sir. Forgive me."

Aziraphale turned around with a flick of his cloak  _ (no one could claim he didn’t have a flair for the dramatic)  _ and disappeared into the forest.

He went at a leisurely stroll, stretching out his cramped legs in case anyone was following him. He took steps around and back every once in a while, just to make sure. But when not a single soul was seen nor heard and he'd gotten some considerable distance away from the camp, he walked with harsher strides, guided only by the light of the full moon that slipped through the sparse canopy. He was moving downslope, not directly down, but at an angle. His weight fell naturally to the ground with each step, granting him more speed than his usual. He did not know how long he had to walk in this partially blind state, but he knew where to go. He had the map ingrained in his mind and knew he would stumble upon a town somewhere ahead. All he had to do for now was to create as much of a distance as he could between himself and their camp. Hopefully he still had a few hours before they would come looking for him. With any luck, they would not notice that he had truly gone until the sun rose.

He wasn't sure how much time passed until he got the sense that he was approaching a clearing in the woods. The ground was flattening itself, and light became more accessible through the canopy. He allowed himself a breath of relief. Just a little longer. He could find a place to rest and think of where to go from there.

Leaves rustled from the ground somewhere behind him. He whipped back, eyes wary.

Perhaps he'd spoken too soon.

Another sound, this time of a twig snapping. His hand flew towards the hilt of his weapon. His eyes darted left and right, breathing very still. 

A flash of dark red dashed from the shadows, and in came the face of the guard he had spoken to. "Sir! You must come back to camp immediately."

Aziraphale was frozen on his feet, teetering on the edge of a major decision of whether to fight or to flee. 

"I am sorry," he said, his voice unstable. "But I cannot do that."

Another guard in dark red appeared. "We don't want to have to hurt you. We're just here to escort you back to camp."

Aziraphale shook his head. "Please. Just let me go."

The younger guard looked exasperated. "We can't return without you, Sir."

"Is it really so important?"

The guards were struck with fear. "The Black Knight has ordered for your safe return, Sir."

Aziraphale took in a deep breath and sent a silent prayer to the Heavens that he be forgiven for his next act.

"Unfortunately,  _ I _ do not answer to the Black Knight." 

His arm surfaced from the folds of his cloak to reveal a dagger held in the grasp of a broad fist.

The second guard drew out his rapier and charged at Aziraphale, who parried his attack easily. He held the bind for one steady beat, then pushed back, catching him by surprise. Aziraphale evaded his next attack, and from there it was easy enough to block. This person was relatively inexperienced, and he swung his weapon with little finesse, absolutely no match for his own skills. The Prince began to grow confident, swinging his own weapon with increased flourish, but his own proud moment caught him off-guard and the next blow came whizzing far too close to his ear. His opponent snarled low. It did not look as if he was still intent on keeping the Prince alive, choosing his wounded pride over his duty. Aziraphale drew him into another bind, forcing his arm up into the air, and deflected his blade. There was no going around it from this angle, his opponent was still intent on attacking. He bit his lip and delivered a slash across his forearm, drawing a gash from his elbow down to his wrist. The guard released a swear-filled series of screams, and Aziraphale crouched on his knees to barrel his entire weight to his opponent's chest, slamming him onto the side of a large tree.

The guard fell to the ground, knocked unconscious. Aziraphale snatched his sword and held it up towards the other guard. There was a hint of terror behind his furious mask as he held his own sword up in front of him.

Aziraphale tipped his chin upwards. "Fight me."

The guard charged straight at him with the same inexperienced blows as his previous opponent. It took a few more blocks and some more evasions. Adrenaline coursed through the Prince's veins as he went in with his dagger and rapier wielded in combined maneuvers. With his two weapons, he trapped his opponent's blade and pulled back, then delivered a strong kick to his thigh that sent him stumbling backwards.

His back hit the tree. Aziraphale surged forward and launched him to the ground, knocking him unconscious as well.

"Please forgive me."

The Prince turned around and ran.

* * *

The name of the town that he chanced upon was Averna, and it was there that he was able to secure himself some decent lodgings at a small inn. He wasn't entirely sure what he was going to do next, but that alone was enough to send a thrill down his spine.

He had no idea what he was going to do next.

It was wonderful.

He spent the day walking around the streets, simply marveling at every small thing. He drew some attention with his hair and odd clothes, but other than that no one really recognised him. He had never known how it felt to be a commoner before. Each step was a breath of fresh air, and each new face was a potential friend to be made. He smiled a lot, sometimes receiving smiles in return but mostly the people just grunted or completely ignored him. It was delightful.

When evening fell, he stumbled into a small tavern and ordered a dish, and that was the first thing that day to kill his good spirits. The portion size was so meagre that he doubted whether it could even fill his stomach. The meat was stale and he bit into it like it was a piece of brick. He consumed everything and left no trace on his plate. It hardly tasted like anything.

Just as he finished his meal, a hot prickling sensation crawled up the back of his neck. He looked around at the other customers. They were all absorbed in their own drink, talking and laughing with their companions. Aziraphale wasn't at all the type to be paranoid, but he eyed each person cautiously, unable to shake off the feeling that he was being watched.

He rose from his seat, exiting the establishment. The streets were busy with people bustling about in all directions and he hoped that he could blend into the crowd. He kept walking, resisting the urge to glance behind him. He was certain now that he was being followed. He kept walking, trying to keep his paces measured and somewhat normal. It would not do him any good to betray his awareness to whoever this pursuer was. 

The Prince waited until he came upon a mass of several people, disappearing right into it before ducking off the path and into a narrow alley. He went straight without once looking back, drawing out his dagger with bated breaths.

He reached a brick wall. A dead end.

"Fuck." 

He whirled around and spotted a dark hooded figure looming before him. 

"Who are you?"

The figure drew out a sword. Aziraphale blurted out another swear, wishing he had brought his rapier with him.

The attacker swung from high above, bringing down the blade to Aziraphale's shoulder. Aziraphale deflected the weapon, but not without some effort. This attacker was strong. He needed to work to gain control of the situation.

Aziraphale was drawn into another set of parries. The attacker shredded the blade with each one, the movements skillful and brimming with strength. Sweat broke out on Aziraphale's brow as he took steady steps back, only to realise that he was being drawn in to be cornered into the brick wall.

Aziraphale gasped as his opponent threw another blow. He brought up his dagger to shield himself, leaving his torso open. But the attacker's blade came up short of colliding with his weapon. A hand flew off from the sword's hilt to grasp Aziraphale's forearm, forcing it back to bend at a painful angle. Aziraphale groaned as the dagger fell out of his grasp, clattering to the ground.

Aziraphale peered into the figure's face, shrouded in complete darkness of a black hood, approaching him slowly, backing him into the wall. 

"You're coming with me, Your Royal Highness."

His breaths came in panicked, stuttering gasps, and he pleaded.

"No!"

The attacker froze in place. Aziraphale could think of no reason for it, but he wasted no more time. He used the moment of distraction to barrel his weight straight to the hooded figure's firm chest, arms encircling a trim waist. With a foot circling outward he pinned the attacker to the brick wall.

He may have put in more of his strength than he initially intended. The hooded head came bouncing onto the wall with an unsavoury thud. A raspy gasp rang from within, then the head fell limp around the neck and the body came slumping against the wall, held up only by the arms that the Prince still had around it.

With shaky breaths, Aziraphale reached up with one hand to grab the hood. He hesitated for a moment, afraid that the attacker might still be conscious and would attack again at any moment. But as the seconds ticked by and no further movement was made, he heaved a sigh and pulled down the hood.

Carnelian. Scraggly, sweat-damp curls strewn over his forehead, a lax expression framed by razor sharp cheekbones on a remarkably clean-shaven face, and the mark of a coiled black serpent just beside his ear.

He gasped. 

This was Anthony Crowley. He had fought and  _ knocked out _ Anthony Crowley. The Black Knight. Head of the Royal Guards.

He bit his lip, initially holding back from expressing any form of concern over someone who had been slashing at him with a rapier just a moment ago. But as his eyes scanned the familiar face and worried over the bruise that was sure to be forming on the back of his head, Aziraphale opened his mouth and groaned.

_ "Fuck!" _

The Prince laid a palm to his cheek, shaking gently. "Please, oh  _ please _ wake up. I am ever so sorry! I did not mean to... It wasn't... Oh dear, I've rather made a mess of things."

The motion of his palm faded into a caress, thumb moving out to sweep over a defined cheekbone. Aziraphale took in the long line of his slightly crooked nose. The freckles that dotted his tan skin. The long eyelashes, hanging low from shut lids. The pouting of a bottom lip as it fell into a relaxed shape for once, released from its usual hard line.

The Black Knight did not move a single muscle. His eyes remained closed, unmoving. A long leg stretched out front when his foot slid on the ground, and Aziraphale bent low to catch him quickly. 

He pleaded up at the stars. "What am I to do now? I can't just leave him here!"

He spent a few minutes mulling over his options, holding the Black Knight up by the armpits. Unfortunately, Aziraphale was in no fit state to appreciate the fact that this was the closest he'd ever gotten to the Black Knight. Their chests pressed, locked into a half-embrace. Nineteen-year-old Aziraphale's heart would have soared right into the Heavens. 

Current Aziraphale only huffed in frustration.

"Oh, blast it! I better not regret this."

With some maneuvering, he managed to sling one of the Black Knight's arms over his shoulders, allowing his full weight to lean on himself. It took considerable strength, but with one arm hooked around the Black Knight’s toned waist, Aziraphale managed to drag him out of the alley and headed towards the direction of his inn.

"This was not quite how I imagined our first hug would be," he mused casually, safe in the knowledge that no one was actually listening. "You are also a lot heavier than I expected."

The Black Knight had a tall and slim build, but Aziraphale shouldn't have been surprised to find out that he packed a lot of muscle. The thought that the Black Knight held an unforeseen strength sent a thrill through him. He giggled, then realised that giggling was childish. He then sighed.

"I hope you will forgive me when you wake up. I am truly sorry for causing you all this trouble."

The Black Knight's head lolled to the side, his flaming red curls tickling the side of Aziraphale's neck. A fond smile flitted over the Prince’s lips as he breathed in.  _ He smells like the forest. _

—

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this little update! Please let me know what you think in the comments if you can, thank you very much :)


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